


Shawn Gets A Therapist

by Smahahah



Category: Hannibal (TV), Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Crossover, Dark, Detectives, Guilt, Gun Violence, Kidnapping, Memories, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Defense, Self-Indulgent, Strangulation, Survivor Guilt, Symbolism, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:41:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smahahah/pseuds/Smahahah
Summary: After being kidnapped and killing two people (in self-defense!) Shawn travels to Baltimore for department-mandated therapy. But Shawn soon discovers that his new therapist isn't all that he seems...
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	Shawn Gets A Therapist

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-compliant with Shawn Takes A Shot In The Dark, except that Shawn kills Longmore and Rollins to escape.

December 2009

Baltimore is so dreary. Shawn always feels like he's in a dark, gritty drama. It's always raining, or about to rain, or just finished raining. Totally depressing. 

But he's on a mission. An important mission, according to Gus. A mission for his mental health. 

Sounds like bullshit, but whatever. 

Shawn spent a lot of time searching for the best and most expensive psychiatrist he could find. If his dad and the department are going to make him go to therapy, the least they can do is shell out for it. 

Getting kidnapped wasn't even that bad. 

And if Shawn traveled across the country by himself to go to this doctor well, that's his own business. 

Dr. Lecter's waiting room is a strange place. The painting across from Shawn is… ominous to say the least. He's not sure he wants to think about a bunch of dead and dying dudes on a boat before he goes into therapy. Or maybe that's the point - to trigger an existential moment before he even gets into the office. 

He's memorized every detail of it with a glance. 

He turns to the right, three paintings hang on the wall. They depict a scene of three women catching fireflies. That's nicer, less in his face about mortality. That's probably another psychiatric trick. Making him comfortable before breaking him down. 

He doesn't know which he prefers - death or fireflies. 

"Mr. Spencer?"

He turns. 

"Dr. Lecter." He looks the doctor up and down. His perfectly tailored suit would've made Shawn feel self conscious about his own appearance, if he had the capacity for shame. Not to mention the weather. Thirty degrees? Not for California born-and-raised Shawn Spencer.

"Come in, please." 

Shawn follows him into the office. 

He was honestly not expecting the office to be so… big. So many vantage points. A whole loft? Who knows what's hiding up there. 

He scans the office quickly. A photo of what looks like an old operating theater, a statue of a horse, but what catches his attention is the bookshelf. 134 sketchbooks, 112 standing, 22 stacked on their sides. Each of the sketchbooks has a dot-sticker on the spine. 43 of the standing sketchbooks have extra stickers. Interesting. Possibly Dr. Lecter's notes on past patients? 

"Please, sit," Dr. Lecter breaks Shawn out of his observation-mode. 

"I'd rather stand, if that's okay. ADHD, and all that." Shawn is trying hard to keep his hands to himself and not touch everything in reach. 

"You did mention an Attention-deficit/hyperactivity Disorder diagnosis in your voicemail." The doctor watches Shawn's hands twitch.

"Did I? I always forget." 

"You believe yourself to be a psychic, is that true?" 

Shawn waves his hands. "I work as the Santa Barbara Police Department's Premier Psychic Consulting Detective, yes." 

"I see you have solved many cases under that title." 

"I am very good at what I do." He finally settles on shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, rocking back and forth slightly. 

"Why did you come all the way here from Santa Barbara?" 

"You were the most highly rated psychiatrist I could find on Google. And the most expensive."

Dr. Lecter raises a metaphorical eyebrow. (Is metaphorical the right word there? He will ask Gus.) The man doesn't really have eyebrows anyway. 

"The department mandated therapy."

"You were abducted." 

"I guess, yeah." 

"And shot."

"Yeah."

"I see why your department requested you speak to someone about your experience."

Shawn breaks the eye contact. He kind of feels like Dr. Lecter is looking into his soul. It's uncomfortable. 

"Would you like to share your story with me?" 

"What accent is that?" Shawn pretends not to have heard his question. "Dutch?" 

"Lithuanian." 

"Is that like Romania?"

"...Lithuania is next to the Baltic Sea, Romania is near the Black Sea." 

"What about Transylvania?"

"Transylvania is in Romania." 

"Huh. I always thought it was made up." 

Dr. Lecter writes something down in his notebook. The same type as the 134 on his bookshelf. 

"Is that my biography?" 

"This notebook is dedicated to notes about your sessions, yes." 

"You're writing about how I avoid questions." 

The doctor looks at Shawn. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't wish to." 

Shawn finally sits down. "Shot me in the shoulder."

(Pectoralis Major. Clavicular Head.) 

"Who shot you, Shawn?" 

"Garth Longmore. That's his alias, anyway. His name doesn't matter. Named himself after a porn star." 

"How do you feel about Garth Longmore now?"

"What do you mean?" 

"This man shot you, kidnapped you, held you hostage. And you killed him. How do you feel when you say his name?" 

The doctor's eyes are boring through Shawn again. 

"I don't… I don't feel anything when I think about him. He wasn't a bad guy. I think Rollins was blackmailing him, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." 

"You blame yourself?" 

"No, I- where are you going with this?" Shawn stands up again. He turns away from Dr. Lecter, once again taking in all the details of the office. The Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy stares back at him from the shelf. This room has so many shelves. 

"You killed two people, Shawn." 

Shawn flinches, barely noticeable even to a trained eye. "It was self defense." 

"Perhaps. But it will still weigh on the soul." 

"I didn't-" Shawn stares at the bookshelf even harder, apparently trying to melt it with his gaze. 

One of Shawn's biggest problems, in his own opinion, is his inability to forget. Every instance of his life is vividly recorded. He remembers the time he walked in on his parents having sex, the time Greg Ramboldt punched him in the face, and the time he wrapped a rope around Rollins' neck and strangled him to death. 

He remembers the way the man choked and gasped for air, clawing at the rope. 

He remembers how he didn't let go, even when the truck rolled to a stop. 

How he didn't even realize what he'd done until Lassie opened the door and pulled him out. 

And then he'd given himself five second to feel the shock, to feel the gravity of what he'd done, taking two lives in just under an hour, and then he'd been fine. 

While Lassie stood outside the car, looking between Rollins' slumped body and Shawn, Shawn had been fine. 

While his dad hugged him, thanking God that he was alive, he'd been fine. 

"Don't let Gus see," he told Lassiter. "He doesn't need to see that." 

Lassiter had only nodded. 

He probably didn't need to see that either, but Lassiter can handle it. Gus can't.

"Shawn?" 

Shawn comes back to himself. The Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy is mocking him now. "Yeah?" 

"You appear to have left our session."

"Do you actually use this book?" 

"The Merck Manual? Not that particular edition, no." 

"What would it say about me?"

Dr. Lecter writes in his notebook. "I don't tend to diagnose patients in the first session."

"But you've already diagnosed me." 

"Yes."

"With PTSD?" 

He nods, though Shawn isn't looking at him. 

"It's almost been an hour," Shawn says.

"Yes. It's been fifty-four minutes." 

Shawn takes one more look around the office. A technical drawing of surgical tools briefly catches his eye.

"Are you free next week?" Shawn asks. 

"I'll mark you down for the same time next week," the doctor says. 

Shawn nods. This is going to help. It has to.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.The painting mentioned is The Raft of the Medusa by Théodore Géricault 
> 
> 2.Photo mentioned is a demonstrational operating performed by Vincenz Czerny
> 
> 3.Statue mentioned is a Chunar Horse Sculpture 
> 
> All the photos/paintings in the office come from descriptions by ixilecter on tumblr


End file.
